The Billionaire's Fake Girlfriend - Part 1 (The Billionaire Saga)

by Sierra Rose

  Thinking fast, I hatched a ringtone plot of my own and carefully extracted his phone from his sleeping hand. A moment later, I jumped on the couch in front of him, holding the phone to his ear as select bits of You’re So Vain shattered the silence between us.

  His eyes snapped open, and he caught me automatically by the hips, fingers gripping tightly as he struggled to focus. I froze in place as the lyrics faded guiltily away. He was breathing heavily while I was hardly breathing at all—heart hammering away in my chest as I was suddenly hyper aware of the fact that I was basically straddling him.

  Great joke, Bex. Nothing says comedy like a mild heart attack with a sexual follow-up.

  “Sorry,” I breathed as my cheeks flamed red. “I didn’t mean to scare you, just wanted to give you a ringtone of your own.”

  He stared a split second in surprise, and then—to my great relief—his face broke out in a huge smile. His grip loosened ever so slightly as his pulse returned to normal.

  “Interesting choice.” He shot me a rueful grin before his eyes flickered down to my attire.

  It wasn’t his fault that I could feel it as his body stiffened slightly between my thighs. It wasn’t his fault that I could see the way his eyes dilated and lingered in certain places. It wasn’t even his fault that I was straddling him.

  It was mine. The whole thing was a huge misunderstanding. I was trying to be funny and witty, but it had completely backfired.

  “Nice dress,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  His eyes flickered casually back up to mine, and I quickly slid back down to the floor.

  “Sorry,” I said again, averting my gaze as he stood up and straightened his shirt. “And sorry for taking so long getting ready. You all set to go?”

  He held open the front door with an expression I didn’t quite understand. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Chapter 12

  Let it be said—I hate shopping. I always have. I was never one of those girly-girls who looked forward to every Sunday when she’d go to the mall with her mom. I ordered things online. I avoided the looping music, the stench of cologne, and the parasitic sales people all from the comfort of my living room. I didn’t feel like I was missing out on anything. I had no ambitions to change.

  But let it also be said…I loved shopping with Marcus.

  I didn’t know what had happened. It was like sometime in between him showing up at my apartment, and me almost giving him a stroke with his phone, he had transformed.

  That uncomplicated, sleeping boy had somehow made a reappearance, and the Marcus with me now was laughing, teasing, and completely unrestrained. I was smitten.

  I also wasn’t sure if any of it was real.

  From the minute we’d left the apartment, there had been cameramen on our trail. While this was as common a sight as the power lines to him, it was a completely new experience to me. They swarmed and buzzed like cicadas, getting much closer than I thought could be legally allowed. But before I could amp up to a full-out panic attack, I felt a set of long, cool fingers lace into mine. I glanced up in surprise to see Marcus grinning at me, leaning his head down and pressing it affectionately against mine.

  “I bet you wish you’d worn a longer dress.”

  He winked and slipped on a pair of sunglasses as I smacked him with a smile.

  Once we’d gotten to the store—some designer place I’d never heard of but I bet would have made Amanda drool—the paparazzi had fallen away, but playful Marcus remained. He wandered in and out of the aisles, pulling out some pieces that were ridiculous, and some that made even a girl like me excited to try them on.

  In the end, I opted for a sapphire-blue number that laced up my back in a labyrinth of ribbons and ended a few inches above my knees. When I inquired as to the price, he simply shot me a bored look and headed off to the front counter to pay.

  “Would you like me to ring up the shoes, too?”

  A woman who looked distractingly like Margaret Thatcher had been helping me change and was now pulling out a pair of jeweled stilettos that apparently “went with the dress.” My face blanked as I glanced down.

  “Oh, um, I don’t know.” I looked up to the front of the store, wobbling slightly on the changing platform as I called up to the counter. “Marcus, should I also get the—”

  “Yes.”

  Well, that answered that.

  I gave Thatcher a helpless shrug, and she helped hold me steady as I slid my feet into the towering heels. After she’d laced me in, I did a practice lap around the mirrors—thanking my lucky stars that Amanda and I had practiced walking in heels from the day we decided we’d grace the world of entertainment with our presence. Still—they were really freaking high.

  “How do those feel?” she asked with concern. “Too loose?”

  “No,” I reached out to the mirror to steady myself, “they’re good. Plus, it’ll give me something to do all night—try to stay standing.”

  She laughed as if my discomfort was a complete novelty. “That’s right! You two should probably be getting on your way if you want to get to the gala.”

  I glanced at her curiously. “Marcus told you about the gala?”

  “Everyone knows about the gala.” She laughed again, like I was trying to pull her leg or something. “Mr. Taylor hosts it every year. It’s the event of the season.”

  That’s right, seasons had events. Wait… Marcus was hosting?

  I nodded distractedly and brightened up in relief when Marcus rejoined us. He gave me a quick once-over, looking genuinely impressed. “You are a vision.”

  “And look how tall!” I couldn’t help but beam as I stepped up next to him, my eyes coming up to his nose. “Almost as tall as you.”

  He took my hand and led me out to where a town car had pulled up outside. “Goodbye, ladies, thank you,” he called over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, thank you—” I tried to twist around as well, but the turning radius on my heels was not what I expected. With a gasp, my ankles slipped out from under me, and I went crashing to the ground. Except…I never made it there.

  Marcus caught me just as easily as if we were back on the dance floor. I looked up breathlessly as he cradled my head in his hand—holding me just inches from the ground.

  “You okay?” he asked softly.

  Heels aren’t really my thing. I nodded, and then shot him the biggest smile. “See what you do to me? You make me feel weak in the knees when I touch you.”

  He flashed his dimples right as a flashbulb went off just a few feet away. I gasped in surprise, and he set me gracefully back on my feet.

  “Always looking for attention,” he chided teasingly as another camera went off.

  My eyes narrowed imperceptibly, but I smiled, ready to play along. “Well, sometimes people need to make a bit of a statement to get your attention.” I laughed delicately, to the delight of the cameras.

  “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he said.

  I gazed into his eyes. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

  I heard a chorus of “awwwww” all around me.

  Our eyes locked and we stared into each other’s eyes. Whether we wanted to admit it or not, we had this amazing connection, this amazing chemistry.

  I kissed his lips. I showed all those flashing cameras that the flames of passion were still burning brightly for us. Markus couldn’t have hired a better actress for the part. I was giving the performance of a lifetime.

  “They can’t get enough of each other,” I heard a woman say. “She’s so lucky!”

  “These two are just as in love as ever,” another said.

  “They can’t hide their feelings for one another,” a far-off voice said.

  “Give us a passionate smooch,” someone else asked.

  I thought I’d kick up the excitement a notch.

  “You can have any girl in the world, and yet, you choose me.” I touched Marcus’s face.

  He gazed at me l
ovingly. “I’ve never met a person as nice and caring as you.”

  “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  His lips brushed against mine in another soft kiss. Marcus held up his hand and swept me into the car in the same motion.

  Once we were safely inside, he turned back to me slowly. “Having fun, Rebecca?”

  “I’ve never had this much attention before,” I said.

  “This is just the beginning.”

  I smiled.

  “You’re a great actress,” he said. “I almost believed every word you said.”

  “It’s what you paid me for. I’m glad you think I’m doing a great job. Maybe one day I’ll break into Hollywood.”

  Chapter 13

  The gala itself was actually much more formal than I had imagined. I didn’t really have to worry about my shoes because instead of wandering around in a wide open ballroom like the party Marcus threw, everyone was seated at rounded tables. The kind of tables with far too much silverware, where the napkins were folded with such severity they could slice open your hand.

  I didn’t recognize anyone in the room, yet everyone looked vaguely familiar. I assumed I’d seen them before on the cover of a magazine or in random pictures from White House correspondence dinners over the years. Whoever they were, they all seemed to know Marcus. We could hardly eat a bite of food before someone new would wander up and demand his immediate attention.

  He introduced me each time as “his girlfriend, Rebecca.” By the time the night was winding to a close, I’d heard the phrase so many times I half believed it myself.

  Once we’d finished with the dinner portion of the evening, the speech-making began. My eyes glassed over with instant boredom, but Marcus was hanging on every word—his eyes boring intently into each speaker. I sensed that “charity” functions like these were far more about political power plays and saber rattling than they were about the cause in question.

  That is… I thought that until Marcus was called up to present his check.

  His check for four million dollars.

  “When I started this foundation nine years ago, I had no idea how it would blossom and thrive with the support of galas like this and the contributions of people like you. With almost one in ten people diagnosed with the condition every year, it’s vital that we use our seat of privilege to reach a helping hand to those who cannot help themselves. I thank you in advance for your generosity.”

  His speech was short and concise—saying with only a few words what all the others had failed to convey through countless monologs. When he handed the check to the president of the foundation, I couldn’t help but glance around the table and feel a little proud.

  That’s right, you sycophants. That’s what sincerity looks like. Soak it in.

  Once he left the stage, the party began to automatically dissipate, and he wove through the crowd to take my hand. “You ready to get out of here?” he murmured.

  “No, I want to hear from the Under-Secretary of Bolivia again.” I squeezed his fingers, and he glanced down with a little smile.

  “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

  The crowd parted like water as we made our way straight through the middle, ignoring the cameras hovering outside as we ducked into our car and sped away into the night. We didn’t say more than a word or two the entire ride back to my apartment. For whatever reason, Marcus was distracted and subdued, drumming his fingers rhythmically on his legs as he stared out the window. When we finally pulled up at the curb, he got out and opened the door for me, offering me a hand as I navigated my shoes firmly onto the pavement.

  “Well, thanks again for the dress. I’ll hear from you tomorrow?”

  He nodded with a distant smile, and I wondered whether or not I should hug him goodbye. There were certainly no cameras around my neck of the woods, but it was hard to know the fake dating protocol. Eventually, I just gave him a little wave and headed inside.

  But suddenly, I paused. A question had been eating away at me since the woman in the dress shop had told me that Marcus was the one hosting the gala.

  “Marcus?” I watched him stop and turn by the car. “Why did you pick that charity?”

  There was the littlest pause. The littlest pause where his shoulders fell ever so slightly.

  “My mother died of diabetes,” he said abruptly.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  A flash made me blink.

  “They’ve found us,” he said.

  And that’s when I noticed how wrong I’d been about the cameras in my neck of the woods. Because I saw a few men with cameras. They weren’t even trying to hide. Guess they really wanted that perfect shot.

  “Do we ignore the cameras?” I asked. “Over to the left. Because they’re watching us intensely.”

  He winked. “Then we better give them a good show.”

  “You mean like the best goodnight kiss ever?”

  “Let’s make it sizzling hot. I mean, we have to convince them, right?”

  I parted my mouth in invitation.

  His gaze bore into mine as our faces inched closer. “We so have to make them believe it.”

  He pulled me ever so close, brushing his lips against mine in a powerful, intense kiss. I loved how his soft lips moved over my mouth, his taste addictive. I tilted my head and the kiss deepened. His touch warmed every inch of my skin as our tongues danced in perfect harmony.

  I knew I was supposed to be acting. But this didn’t feel like acting. It felt like something more. He never said we had to kiss. Just act. I had so crossed the line. But then again, so had he. Or was he really trying to sell this story? What the hell was I doing? I can’t fall for this guy. He’ll just break my heart. This was an acting gig and nothing more. But why was I enjoying this kiss far too much?

  His tongue slid over mine in a sensuous dance, every stroke sending me into overdrive. It was like he was breathing life into my empty soul. My body shivered with pleasure, every cell on fire. I ran my hands through his soft locks. We now kissed in a slow, erotic rhythm. It was the most perfect, passionate kiss, and I felt the sparks all the way down to my toes.

  “Goodnight, Rebecca,” he said.

  “Goodnight,” I responded.

  I scarcely remembered the walk back up to my apartment—my heels somehow sensed my distraction and vowed to behave. I floated past Hamburg’s door, wondering vaguely why he didn’t pounce on me again about my eviction; choking on the heavy scent of Mrs. Wakowski’s curry wafting through the air; and pulled open the door to my apartment.

  The lights were off, and I took a silent moment as I leaned back against the door, replaying certain scenes from the night in my head. I couldn’t tell you what exactly had changed over the course of the evening, but things with Marcus were not how they started this morning.

  They were…different, somehow.

  Then the lights snapped on, and I shrieked aloud.

  Amanda was sitting on the couch, stroking Deevus and watching me with narrowed eyes. I flushed guiltily in my new dress, clutching my chest as my heart cautiously slowed to normal. My nervous smile went unreturned as she continued stroking the cat like a grade-A villain.

  “Oh yeah,” she said, shining a spotlight on my nerves. “I saw the show outside the window. Why don’t you fill me in on the gorgeous hunk you’re secretly dating? Because he sure looks a lot like the billionaire, Marcus Taylor, to me.”

  “I’m not dating Marcus Taylor. I took the job he offered me,” I said. “He’s giving me twenty thousand dollars.”

  “That’s awesome!”

  “I knew I needed the money. I’ll take care of the rent.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Thanks, girl.”

  “It’s a great acting gig. And I couldn’t say no.”

  “You get paid to pucker up to a gorgeous guy like Marcus? Wow! Great perks come along with your job package.” She cocked her head. “But that lip-lock out there, it didn’t look like acting.”

&nb
sp; I winked. “Now you know what a damn good actress I truly am.”

  “Damn straight!”

  Chapter 14

  “Marcus…fucking…billionaire…Taylor.”

  I shook my head as Amanda said the words for the hundredth time. It was now the early hours of the morning. The initial “scary” part of the interrogation had passed some hours ago, and we were well into the aftershocks. We’d pulled out my comforter and were lying on our backs, a bag of popcorn between us, with our heads sticking out onto the balcony—listening to the sounds of the city as we gazed up at the fading moon.

  All at once, Amanda collapsed into a fit of giggles, her voice barely audible through the sound. “Marcus…I’m-fucking-a-billionaire…Taylor.”

  “Would you stop?” I demanded, smacking her in the arm. “We’re not having sex.”

  “…yet.”

  “Ever.”

  She shook her head, gazing lovestruck up at the stars. It truly didn’t matter what I said to her at this point; she was too far gone.

  “It’s like a movie—or some show we’d watch on Lifetime.”

  I rolled my eyes. “This is nothing more than a job. There’s no romance fantasy here. When are you going to get that? Besides, even if we did fuck the entire time, he’d just dump me when this was all over. Because that’s what players do. They conquer, and then move on to the next pretty thing. And I don’t want to be his latest conquest. And I don’t want to fall for the biggest player on the planet.”

  I opened a magazine and looked at all the girls Marcus had dated. The article showed all his love interests. He had dated models, a surgeon, singers, heiresses to massive fortunes, and even a famous actress and author. He was definitely out of my league, that was for sure.

  “No, this could be a movie.” Amanda ignored me completely, lost in her daydream. “The kind of movie where the guy comes to his senses and falls for the much more relatable, much prettier best friend. You know,” she shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth, “that kind of movie.”

  “They already made that movie. I think it’s called The Craft. Everybody dies.”